


Fragility

by FairTradeHoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:31:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairTradeHoney/pseuds/FairTradeHoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scene post 5.13 (The Song Remains the Same), after Dean, Sam, & Castiel have returned from 1978 Lawrence. Anna is dead, Michael is a dick. </p><p>Chugging (slowly) along at 30 Day OTP Challenge, obviously not doing 30 Sequential Days. Here's Day 2: Cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragility

Dean is exhausted, physically and emotionally. He’s worn out from dealing with Michael, from having to say no, once again. More than that, he’s sick and tired of feeling like a damned puppet. Sam is clearly in the same boat, the boat known as _You Will Not Use My Body for the Apocalypse, Damn It_. So they sip their whiskey, two-thirds of Team Free Will, and Dean spouts affirmations that are intended to be uplifting, but to the trained eye carry the faint air of overcompensation.

Speaking of Team Free Will, the third member is completely conked out on the bed over there. Dean supposes that he’s at least in better shape than Cas, but that thought is far more disconcerting that it is comforting. Cas is a mess, and seems less and less angelic every time Dean sees him. He isn’t supposed to pass out at all, much less take so long to heal. Dean is worried, though he’s not necessarily ready to admit it. He knows that he and Sam need Cas at full power if they’re going to make it through what’s to come. He’s also worried—though he’s _really_ not ready to admit this—that, being cut off from Heaven, Cas’ sacrifice may be more than the angel can expect to recover from. However, he does his best to ignore these concerns, mindlessly babbling optimism instead. 

Sam and Dean soon decide it’s time for bed, hastened by the warmth of booze in their stomachs. Since Cas is already occupying one bed, Sam goes to the office to see if he can get another room. Unfortunately the motel is all booked up, and since neither Sam nor Dean is particularly down for a bathtub nap, one of them will have to share with the angel. They decide to rock/paper/scissors for the empty bed and, as expected, Sam wins ( _Always with the scissors, Dean_ ). Dean grumbles a bit, but is ultimately too tired to put up too strenuous a protest. 

Cas is literally passed out on top of the covers, pretty well dead to the world. Dean strips down to appropriate sleepwear (boxers and a t-shirt) then half nudges, half picks Cas up to move him to one side of the bed. Dean himself crawls underneath the sheets and, within minutes, drifts off to sleep. 

About an hour later Dean wakes to the chattering of Cas’ teeth and the angel’s short, shallow breathing. Dean instinctively reaches his hand out, placing it on Cas’ forehead, and nearly jerks away at the heat radiating off the angel. It’s not as though Dean doesn’t know how to deal with a fever; he just doesn’t understand how this angel, or more accurately his vessel, is running a fever, particularly one this high. This strikes Dean as far more serious than needing to sleep one off, and that thought rattles him significantly. He looks over towards Sam, annoyed to find him deep asleep and totally oblivious to the potential health crisis in the next bed. 

Cas’ blue eyes are pained and red-rimmed as he looks at Dean, silently pleading. Dean doesn’t know what the angel is pleading for, but it seems that Cas doesn’t know either. Dean tries to keep his freak out to a minimum, all the while wondering if this is a normal side effect of rebellion and a missing heavenly connection or if it’s something else entirely. Neither of those options is particularly good. Dean knows in his gut that Cas is on the right side here, that trying to avert the apocalypse is what they should be doing, but clearly the consequences are substantial. Dean says a generic thank you to the universe that Cas’ external wounds seem to have now healed, and that he’s at least not spitting up blood or something similarly horrific.  Nevertheless, Cas is confused and hurting. Dean reasons that any sort of over-the-counter drug is not going to do anything to get the angel right, and that their best (and to be honest, only) option is to try and wait it out. In the meantime, Dean adjusts both Cas and the blankets to reposition the angel underneath the covers. Cas lies there for several minutes, gripping and tugging at the blankets. Despite the way the bedding is wrapped snugly around his shoulders, Cas continues to shake with cold. Dean does the only think he can think of, pulling the covers out of Cas’ hands and drawing the angel into his chest. They’re lying face to face, Dean hoping that the warmth of his own body can provide some additional comfort. He is again shocked at the intensity of Cas’ fever, as well the uncharacteristic frailness of the angel’s body. It’s likely that shock that keeps him from second-guessing himself, overthinking the situation and pulling away. Instead Dean looks into Cas’ eyes, which visibly soften in response, now appearing grateful rather than pleading. This small shift tugs at Dean’s gut and moments later, when Cas curls up and rests his head on Dean’s chest, Dean wraps his arm around Cas’ shoulders without hesitation. Slowly Cas’ shivering subsides, his breathing regulates, and they both drift off to sleep. 

Some time later, Cas wakes up drenched in sweat, his fever broken. He’s still in Dean’s arms and feels much better, though vaguely soggy. He wiggles out of the bed, casting a cursory glance at Sam, still thoroughly unconscious in the adjacent bed. Cas then rids himself of his many layers, creating a pile of clothing on the floor, until he’s left wearing only a pair of white cotton boxer shorts. Satisfied, Cas crawls carefully back into bed. The shifting weight on the mattress rouses Dean, who instinctively pulls Cas back toward him. Like before, Cas snuggles deep into Dean’s chest while Dean wraps his arms around the angel’s noticeably sturdier frame. Unlike before, their legs are entwined. This time Cas nuzzles into Dean’s neck. This time Dean rests his lips on Cas’ forehead. This time, their comfort is mutual. Soothed by the rhythm of each other’s breathing, in moments they’re both fast asleep. 

In the morning, Dean wakes to harsh sunlight streaming across the bed and the bittersweet realization that he’s the only one in it. Other than the rumpled sheets next to him, there’s no visible sign that Cas was ever there. Sam’s bed is also empty. The water running in the bathroom tells Dean that his brother is in the shower, which should give him a few minutes to himself. He pulls the covers over his head, burrowing into the sheets. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and inhales deeply. Cas’ scent still lingers, and the sensation allows Dean to deny the morning just a bit longer. Dean revisits the previous night, imagining that Cas is still there, that their bodies are pressed together in a tangle of limbs. He stays this way until he hears Sam come out of the bathroom, shaking him from his illusion. Resigned, Dean throws back the covers to face the day. He feels better rested than he has in months. 


End file.
